Guide of the Sichuan Tang Clan C50

Chapter 50

Eunmyeong hadn’t slept properly the night before. He forced himself to stay awake until sunrise, and only then did he drag his feet toward the training grounds.

For two straight days, he’d been responsible for guiding both Seowon and Mujin, and his stamina was completely drained. For someone whose usual routine consisted of sitting on the veranda all day, trimming the tops off medicinal herbs, handling two people like that was exhausting. On top of it all, the fear that he might not be able to save Seowon kept overturning his heart at random moments.

I can’t do this twice. Even if someone beat me to death, I wouldn’t.

Two days was manageable—barely. If it had been any longer, his whole body would’ve turned into rags.

Yawning as he walked, a shadow suddenly fell over Eunmyeong.

“Huh?”

He opened his half-lidded eyes and saw Tang Cheongwoo standing there.

He couldn’t tell if the sunlight was dazzling or if Cheongwoo’s face was. Squinting, Eunmyeong asked,

“Clan Head…?”

“On your way to the training grounds?”

If not, there was no way he’d be awake this early. When Eunmyeong nodded, Cheongwoo’s lips curved neatly upward.

“You should keep your eyes open while walking. Why are you stumbling around like a newborn chick?”

“Human babies can’t walk when they’re born…”

The exhaustion and drowsiness from the tension of the previous night muddled his thoughts. As Eunmyeong muttered half-asleep, Cheongwoo naturally draped an arm over his shoulders.

“I meant a puppy. Whining and wobbling—it’s exactly the same.”

“…That’s an insult, isn’t it?”

“Would I, the Clan Head of the Tang Clan, really insult someone?”

It sounded exactly like one. But before Eunmyeong could dwell on it, sleep tugged at him again. Without realizing it, he leaned into the solid body supporting him.

All the way to the training grounds, Cheongwoo’s gaze never left Eunmyeong’s face. The plump cheeks he’d always found adorable seemed to have thinned a little, and it pained him. What if even those disappeared? He poked Eunmyeong’s cheek lightly.

“Mmh…”

Eunmyeong let out a small sound and shut his eyes halfway again. Finding it amusing, Cheongwoo pressed the other cheek too.

“I told you to stay by my side.”

“……”

“If I’d known your little ‘walk’ would take this long, I would’ve tied you next to me from the start. Where did you go to mess up your face like this? Tsk.”

“Do you really think I’m a puppy?”

“Yes. So shall I check how many puppies our little one is carrying?”

Cheongwoo tossed out the shameless line without hesitation. Eunmyeong clamped his lips shut, face burning. Didn’t he feel embarrassed at all? When Eunmyeong glanced up, Cheongwoo was smiling in clear enjoyment.

Cheongwoo matched Eunmyeong’s slow pace all the way to the training grounds. Elders and attendants followed behind them.

Among them were Namya, Goju, and Baekseon, Cheongwoo’s closest aide. Watching the affectionate figures from behind, Baekseon’s eyes sharpened.

Trouble, Namya thought, letting out a quiet sigh.

Only after arriving at the training grounds did Eunmyeong straighten up. The aligned gazes of the martial artists were piercing.

This is insane.

Even after stepping away from Cheongwoo, the confusion in their eyes didn’t fade. Yoojo looked between them in disbelief, Jeongho stared suspiciously, and Yuseong looked like he might spring forward at any second—each reaction different.

After taking in their responses, Eunmyeong quickly put distance between himself and Cheongwoo and slipped into the group.

Looking ahead, he saw Mujin standing at the front. A green ribbon fluttered atop his neatly tied hair—the same ribbon tied in Eunmyeong’s hair.

Dressed in full martial attire, Mujin looked more dignified than ever. Like a deeply rooted tree, he stood there as befitted the Tang Clan’s Young Master. He clasped his fists and bowed, and the elders—excluding Cheongwoo—returned the gesture.

What a sight.

Today was the day to save Seowon—but also the day Mujin would be judged for his qualifications as Young Master.

Just as Mujin finished the formalities and was about to speak—

Boom.

The ground shook violently. The earth trembled, and roof tiles fell from nearby buildings. Recognizing the vibration, Eunmyeong turned toward Mount Sichuan.

Don’t tell me—!

With each successive quake, flocks of birds took flight from all across the mountain. Where they’d been, empty spaces appeared—areas that should’ve been dense forest now looked blasted bare.

“What the—”

Someone muttered as explosive sounds overlapped.

The tremors were growing stronger. The intruder was getting closer.

Only one person could cause this.

A cultivator who’d fallen into qi deviation was drawn to slaughter. Seowon was undoubtedly descending toward Sichuan in search of another victim.

Cheongwoo looked toward the mountain and clicked his tongue.

“So he favors swift swordplay—and he’s impatient too. Knowing his death day and coming to greet it.”

Despite his words, Cheongwoo’s voice was calm, as if he’d expected this outcome all along.

“Go.”

“Yes, Clan Head.”

“If it becomes too much, speak up. You’ll pay the price, of course.”

Mujin’s brow twitched. He hid his expression, bowed deeply, then turned and rushed toward Mount Sichuan. The martial artists followed after him.

Left behind, Eunmyeong tried to run after them—

[Tang Eunmyeong.]

The familiar voice echoed in his mind.

[Stay with the Clan Head.]

Eunmyeong froze mid-step.

What nonsense was this? Seowon aside, Mujin would obviously pour out his internal energy without hesitation. And he’d promised to save Seowon—meaning he’d push himself even harder than usual.

Leaving two walking bombs behind? Absolutely not.

[I’ll keep Seowon alive. Just stay there.]

The voice was so firm it sounded like he’d die in Seowon’s place if needed.

Clenching his fist, Eunmyeong muttered,

“Stay where? What am I supposed to do alone?”

Letting Mujin die while Seowon lived wasn’t an answer either. With the coming demon cult war, both of them had to survive.

His heart pounded—not from fear, but from anxiety that everything would fall apart.

“Damn it. You should’ve just tucked me under your arm and taken me with you.”

Grinding his teeth, Eunmyeong fixed his gaze on the source of the explosions.

Then he ran.

Please—don’t let me be too late.

Where had it gone wrong?

If he’d ignored Mujin and done mucosal guiding, would Seowon have avoided losing control?

Panting, Eunmyeong replayed everything in regret as he ran toward the mountain entrance.

Each tremor felt like his breath was being cut off—as if it signaled someone getting hurt. He forced his legs to move faster.

“Huff—huff…”

Swallowing blood-tasting saliva, he pushed toward the noise. Past the underbrush, beyond thick oak trees, he found martial artists lying scattered across the ground.

None of them were in good condition.

Thanks to the earlier guiding, their internal energy wasn’t too unstable—but the external injuries were severe. Ignoring their groans, Eunmyeong rushed forward.

In that short time…?!

The mountain entrance wasn’t far. Mujin couldn’t have arrived much earlier—yet Seowon had already taken down fighters of that caliber.

The ancient forest had long since turned into a barren clearing. Though Mujin and Seowon weren’t visible, the intermittent shockwaves told Eunmyeong they were there.

First priority—get the wounded out of range.

Rolling up his sleeves, Eunmyeong grabbed their collars and dragged them away.

“Ugh…”

Jeongho cracked his eyes open, blood from his forehead blurring his vision.

“Hero…?”

“Yeah. Your hero.”

Jeongho instinctively reached out when he saw Eunmyeong. After a brief stare, Eunmyeong took his hand.

“I told you not to get beaten up wherever you go.”

He clicked his tongue at Jeongho’s swollen face.

“You can’t stay here. Cough—you need to get to the Clan Head…”

“There’s a patient here. Where would I go?”

“It’s dangerous. The Sword Master—”

Jeongho suddenly choked, blood surging up his throat. He stopped speaking. Blood spilled from beneath his pale lips.

“Hey—your mouth—!”

Eunmyeong hurriedly wiped it with his sleeve.

That was when Jeongho’s gaze shifted past Eunmyeong.

Fear shook his pupils.

“It’s not the Sword Master. That thing is… no different from a demon.”

A cold sweat slid down Eunmyeong’s spine.

Slowly, he turned.

In the empty clearing stood Seowon, sword in hand.

White hair fluttered around his shoulders. Beneath it, his bare upper body and white martial trousers were exposed. Only the plum blossom emblem on the hem marked him as a Mount Hua disciple.

White stained easily.

As if his mind had been eaten away, his white garments were soaked in blood. A drop fell from the hem of his trousers.

Thud.

Eunmyeong inhaled sharply.

“One more, huh.”

Snake-like eyes snapped toward Eunmyeong. Seeing another life, Seowon’s gaze curved in delight.

“Coming to offer your neck without being asked.”

“Next, I’ll tear your mouth apart.”

Mujin appeared, straightening his throwing blades. His face was as emotionless as ever—but the turbulence beneath was already out of control.

“Seems like the one getting torn apart won’t be me… or is it that body?”

Seowon laughed lightly, wiping blood from his face. Though he spoke to Mujin, his eyes never left his newly found prey.

The mixture of rapture and pleasure in that gaze froze Eunmyeong in place.

This wasn’t the Seowon he’d guided.

Just meeting his eyes made every hair stand on end.

When Eunmyeong’s hand began to tremble, Jeongho tightened his grip.

“Hero.”

“…Yeah. I’m fine.”

Sensing Eunmyeong’s fear, Mujin launched himself forward. In a blur too fast to track, he placed himself in front of Eunmyeong and scattered poison into the air.